


An Angel's Claim

by Echos_of_Blue



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-21
Updated: 2017-02-21
Packaged: 2018-09-25 23:48:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9852446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Echos_of_Blue/pseuds/Echos_of_Blue
Summary: Dean Winchester couldn’t sleep. Castiel’s betrayal was still too fresh in his mind. He didn’t want to think about the fact that the angel was probably plotting with Crowley as he laid in bed. He didn’t want to think about anything, but there was one question he just could not ignore, no matter his efforts. If Castiel raised Sam from perdition, why didn’t he have a handprint burned on his shoulder?





	

**An Angel’s Claim**

 

8o8o8o8o

 

Tic… tic… tic

 

The constant soft ticking from the wall clock was the only sound that filled the room. The dim lamplight cast from the nightstand played shadows over the back wall that seemed to move on their own accord. Anyone else would have found it unsettling. Like echoes of ghosts teasing at their own presence.

 

Dean Winchester, however, almost wished it were ghosts instead of mindless shadows. The man had too many thoughts and questions swirling around in his mind. If he tried to catch one, it would simply disappear and another would take its place, before that one, too, vanished.

 

Dean felt guilt tingle over his shoulders. More intensely, however, he felt anger. Bubbling anger, boiling up from the pit of his stomach. He shouldn’t be feeling guilty at all. He had no reason to hold any guilt. Not one. Single. Reason.

 

Castiel had made his choice. He chose to _lie._ He chose to _betray._ He chose to _spy._ He chose _Crowley_ over his own fam- friends. He chose Crowley over his own friends. Even when Dean essentially pleaded with him to stop, Castiel didn’t.

 

Dean also felt like an idiot. He had trusted Castiel and Castiel tossed that trust aside as if it were nothing. Which, to Castiel, it might have been.

 

John Winchester’s voice rang loudly in Dean’s ears: “ _Family, son. They’re the only ones you can trust. Want to know why we don’t go to hunters wakes? Because that’s a damn good way to get yourself killed. Hunters, they look out for their own and if you ain’t that, you’re as valuable as a thriftstore gun.”_

 

At the time, Dean had taken those words to heart. He thought he had proved his father wrong when Castiel joined them in the fight against Lucifer and Micheal. Dean huffed out a laugh, yeah, he was a real idiot.

 

Dean glanced past the nightstand, which bisected the two beds in the room. Under the murky green comforter was the still form of his little brother. Sam had his eyes closed and his hands folded over his stomach, but Dean knew from years of listening to his brother’s breathing that Sam was, in fact, awake.

 

There was just one thing that Dean didn’t understand. Well, no. There were, in all actuality, many things that Dean didn’t understand at the moment. This certain one, however, was a persisted tug in the back of his mind that he could not quell.  

 

“Hey, uh,” Dean cleared his throat. “Hey, Sam.”

 

Without opening his eyes, Sam gave a “hmm?” in response and probably raised an eyebrow, though Dean couldn’t tell in the dim lighting.

 

“Did - when you were,” Dean sighed, running a hand through his short hair. “Did you have a handprint?”

 

At that, Sam opened his eyes, the bluish-hazel colour reflecting the light as he looked at Dean. Dean cringed at his wording but took refuge in the knowledge that he at least mustered the courage to ask. Dean knew, from much experience, that courage such as that only came to a person if they were half-asleep - or drunk.   

 

“What?” Sam asked tiredly, but with underlying curiosity lacing his eyes.

 

“When Cas,” Dean stumbled over his - former - friend’s name. “When Castiel yanked you from the box, did he burn a handprint on your shoulder or something?”

  


“I- No, actually. I hadn’t even thought about that.” Sam paused and Dean could practically hear the wheels turning in his brother’s head. “It probably has something to do with me not having a soul, don’t you think? I mean, Castiel did say he had to weld his grace to your soul... but he couldn’t have done that with me.”   

 

“Yeah,” Dean agreed unconvincingly. “That’s probably it.”   

 

“Why ask?”

 

“It’s nothing,” Dean said, rolling onto his side, with his back away from Sam in a silent message that he was done with the conversation. Over their years of - Dean refused to call it _pillow talk,_ even in his own head - nightly discussions, turning one’s back to the other was equivalent to hanging up in a phone call.  

 

“Dean,” Sam sighed and went to sit up.

 

“Sammy, it’s fine, okay?” Dean said, sounding tired to even his own ears. “Just leave it alone.”

 

Something in Dean’s tone must have been enough to convince Sam to back off. Dean was relieved when he heard Sam huff before the sheets started to rustle, signaling his brother laid back down. He knew Sam would probably bring it back up tomorrow, though. His brother jumped at any chance to _talk_ to Dean about anything that was “bothering” him.    

When the sheets finally settled, silence lapsed between the two brothers once again, only broken by the:

 

Tic… tic… tic…  

 

After about an hour, Sam fell into the waves of a restless sleep.

 

Dean, no matter how hard he tried, couldn’t fall into sleep. His eyes lingered in the direction he knew the fridge to be and not for the first time that night, he toyed with the idea of saying “screw it” and drinking himself to sleep. But, the hunter knew tomorrow needed him and his usefulness would severely diminish if he had a hangover that impaired his senses.

 

He knew Sam’s theory was wrong. When they had Cas - Castiel trapped in the ring of heavenly fire, he told them. He told them everything and Dean believed that. He believed the look of devastation on the angel’s face when Sam asked if he meant to bring him back soulless. Dean knew he shouldn’t, he knew that he had no reason to trust the angel… but the look in his eyes was so human in that one instance, that Dean did believe him - even if he didn’t want to.

 

Maybe some part of him just wished that Castiel was really trying to do the right thing. He was, wasn’t he? The angel wasn’t evil, not like the demon he was working with. He was trying to fix heaven so his asshat brothers wouldn’t try to break the whole damn world again. He had protected them when demons tried to kill them. He killed Crowley’s demons so that they could live. Why would he have done that if he hadn’t still, on some level, cared about them?

 

That meant, that if Castiel really didn’t know that Sam was soulless until he stuck his hand in his stomach… then, the lack of a handprint must not have surprised the angel. The handprint wasn’t from welding their grace and soul together. It couldn’t have been.

 

So, why would Castiel mark Dean with a handprint if he didn’t have to? Why would he… basically brand him?

 

All of a sudden, a memory resurfaced behind Dean’s eyelids.

 

_Castiel looked at him with all the seriousness that the angel held about him. “ If the angel we seek truly bought this boy's soul - when a claim is laid on a living soul, it leaves a mark, a brand. ”_

 

Dean gave a short, soundless gasp and sat up. His hand when to brush his shoulder where the handprint had been before Castiel healed it. Even though the visible mark was gone, Dean could still feel it. The warmth of the imprint on his skin.

 

But that… What Balthazar had done to that kid was different, wasn’t it? Balthazar had left a small symbol on the kid’s chest. Not a handprint on his arm. It had to be different. It was different.  

 

That’s what Dean repeated to himself until he felt darkness overtake him. When his consciousness slipped away from him, the lie was still fresh on his tongue.     

 

8o8o8o8o          

 

 

 

  


End file.
